vapor on vapor
by ember53608
Summary: she takes a sip from her shot glass and squeezes her eyes shut. bitter things don't go well with innocent people, he figures.


I promise this isn't as angsty as the summary makes it out to be. Enjoy, and R&amp;R!

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When Shishio walks into the bar, a cigarette at his chapped lips, he does not expect Yukichi to look his way. Then again, he never really has, not since that fateful morning when the world sort of fell apart and left its jagged pieces in his lap for him to mend.

But this day, a rustling summer scene set in early July, the man with the stubble and rectangular glasses actually chances a glance at him, and in return, Shishio half-nods, half-smiles, not sure how else to return his gaze.

Taking a seat at the bar, he looks down the line, taking in the familiar faces. All couples, or friends with benefits, however you want to look at it.

"Excuse me?" echoes a voice from behind, and he turns, only to have the air sucked from his lungs.

Her face is as angled as he remembers it, but rounded at the edges. She has eyes that still glimmer in the dark, like sky in a motley of rain clouds, and her hair falls short to just above her shoulder. She stares at him, breathless.

"I—" Suzume begins, but he cuts her off, "Yosano. It's been a while."

Only two and a half years; she should be a freshman in college.

"Yes, it has."

Shishio briefly considers his options. Patting the empty seat on his left, he continues, "Would you like to have a drink with me?"

Her eyes go as wide as moonstones, but she obliges, making her way around to the other side of the bar. As if by instinct, Shishio feels another pair of eyes on the back of his head; funny, how that works.

"Amano-san, two shots," Suzume calls, squirming in her seat. When he downs and slams his shot glass on the table, she can't help but jump at least four inches high.

Shishio looks over to her and laughs, the way he did when he first met her, the way he did when they went to the aquarium, the way he did when he bandaged her foot—the way he did too many times.

"Where have you been?" he starts, simple.

"College, but we're on summer break right now." She takes a sip from her shot glass and squeezes her eyes shut. Bitter things don't go well with innocent people, he figures. "And you, sensei?"

He laughs again. "Where else? The school, my apartment, Yukichi's bar."

"You haven't changed," Suzume notes, with a touch of a grin, and he can't help but watch the tension roll gently off her shoulders. Her head is angled upward and no longer falls into her neck; he's reminded of a swan.

They sit, poised for conversation even when the words aren't easy in making. Getting past day-to-day chatter is difficult, and for a while, all they do is down their shot glasses in manners that could not be more different.

"Sensei," she murmurs then, eerily quiet, "can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he says all too readily, maybe because of the alcohol or maybe because he knows what she's going to ask him; either way, Shishio can tell it unnerves her.

She looks at him hesitantly, tracing the rim of her shot glass with her finger. Her voice quavers when the words come out, and he's momentarily chilled to the bone—

"Are you over me yet?"

For a split second, the world ceases to spin, and then, just as quickly as it halted its orbit, plunges back into the elliptical dimensions. Every word, every touch, every look, flashes before his eyes, the way your life does before you die.

He pauses, and she stares at him, a terror not unlike the one from the storage room all those years ago written into every crevice of her face.

[ _"No, I don't._ ]

Funny, how the two situations align.

"No," Shishio breathes, turning to smile warmly at her, "I don't think I am." Her eyes go wide and he hovers, inches from her, beaming, and the terror dissipates, and she does not quite know what to say, but she does know that her heart isn't falling or shattering or smothering itself in something akin to depression.

In fact, it's doing quite the opposite.

"Are you?" He poses the question playfully, fiddling with a strand of her hair that falls close to his cheek. Suzume stops to consider the question, oblivious to the steaming glare her uncle is sending their way.

A teasing sort of grin plays at her lips, and she almost laughs at the nostalgia that curls its way up her throat, like vapor on vapor. The air between them is easier to breathe, she notes, and as nonchalantly as is possible, she replies—

"Although it's 'unrequited', I've always loved you, sensei."

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I'd just like to clarify one more thing-this fic is just to show that Suzume and Shishio will always love each other. I'm not trying to show them getting together or anything, if that's how it came off.

Also, if any of you follow "graveyard in my mouth", I should update next week!


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